think?" he asked gazing at the picture.
"What?"
"I'm sure you snuck a peek, Melody. I would
have."
"Oh. I I. . . yes. I did. I was surprised at how
much detail you got into it already," I said, trying to
keep the disappointment out of my voice.
"Uh-huh. That sounds diplomatic."
"I'm not an art critic. Not yet, at least," I said.
"But it looks like the beginning of something special."
If only it was my face that would grace his
masterpiece, I thought.
"Yes. It's only a figment of my imagination
right now, but soon, it will grow. You know, this is
going to take us all summer," he said.
"I'm not going anywhere," I replied. "I was
going to run away yesterday, but then I thought,
where would I run to?"
He stared at me and I held my breath, hoping he would offer his home as a sanctuary should I need it. But he remained silent. If the words were on his
tongue, he swallowed them.
"I guess the bottom line is none of us can really
run away. We can escape but we can't run away," he
said. "How can we escape if we don't run away?" I
asked. "You find another place to go inside yourself,"
he said, staring at the block of marble.
"As you found with your art?"
He nodded.
"What were you escaping from?" I asked and
waited as he hesitated, his eyes still on the block of
marble.